


The Death Of A Hawke

by andrastesflamingsword



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Death of Malcolm, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-27 14:50:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrastesflamingsword/pseuds/andrastesflamingsword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrett Hawke and the deaths of his family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Malcolm Hawke

They all knew it was coming. It had been obvious for days. The signs of sickness had been spreading through Lothering for days. Weeks. A bad omen, some thought. It’s almost laughable how many think they are safe from such things, and how many more wear silly trinkets in an attempt to protect themselves from it. Anyone with even the smallest amount of common sense should have known a talisman couldn't protect anyone from disease.

No one expected Malcolm Hawke to catch the sickness. He was a strong man. A healthy man. A kind man to all. No one ever thinks the good ones to be affected by these things. But disease doesn't care about kindness or how good a persons heart is. It is a dark thing that will strike down anyone.

Garrett had seen death before. Their family are runaways. _Apostates_. The word spat at them like a bad taste by many a Templar. Death follows them around everywhere they go. But never before has it taken someone so close to him. His own father. It is a cruel twist of fate, to spend so long surviving outside the Circle, running from their would be captors, only to be taken by a malady that could have so easily been healed, had they only known how.

His last moments are spent surrounded by a family that loves him. Hawke remembers that the most. Because it means his father died happy, at least. Leandra clasping his hand, perched on the edge of a makeshift bed. Bethany at her feet, impossibly wide eyes staring up at her parents, Carver hovering behind his sister, fidgeting in his worry. They’re both 15, old enough to understand what’s going on. To know that each gasping breath their father takes brings him closer and closer to his last.

Garrett himself sits near his fathers head on a small stool, one he knows he’s too big for. But it’s all they have. Apostate families don’t need much, never knowing when they might have to run next. 

Leandra leans down as her husbands whispers something, speaking in difficult raspy breaths and Bethany looks up at her twin brother, reaching for his hand. Carver lets her take it, giving her that small comfort for the moment, blue eyes darting to look at his big brother and there’s a look in his eyes that asks why he’s not doing anything, asking why Garrett isn't out right now, looking for some way to save their father. 

_You’re a mage. Do something. Anything!_

He can’t say it though. The words stick in the young Hawke’s throat and he tears his gaze away, staring hard at the wall. 

Malcolm tells them not to worry. That they’ll be okay. That he’ll be okay. He tells them he’s not going to meet the Maker alone. There are people waiting for him. He tells Bethany and Carver to be strong, to look out for one another and that he must make sure his sister stays safe. Bethany has been blessed, or perhaps cursed, with the gift of magic. Like their father. Like her big brother. 

Leandra listens to her husbands words, teary eyed as he tells her that he loves her, he’ll wait for her in Andraste’s arms. That if there was ever a moment in his life he would not change, then it would be running away for the Circle only to fall in love with the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. She laughs of course, the sound catching in her throat as a heartbreaking smile pulls at her lips and he tries to laugh with her. 

Her eldest son can’t watch. Won’t look at that smile. Because he knows that if he does, he will shatter himself. Someone has to stay strong for them all. His gaze stays trained on the floor, listening intently when he knows it’s his turn. He waits for words of wisdom from the dying man.

But they never come.

The laughter is the last sound he ever makes.

The moment Garrett lifts his gaze to look at his father, he’s reach for his sister who seems to throw herself at him, face pressed against her brothers shirt, cries mixing with her mothers sobs. 

A door slams and he knows Carver has stormed out of their small house. He can tell from the scream that echoes outside. 

Their father is dead. A tragedy indeed.

Little do they know, it is not the last.


	2. Bethany

Ten years. He spent Ten years of his life in that damned village, hating ever moment of it. The place was always crawling with templars and Garrett spent more time dodging them then doing anything else. He always knew it was a bad place and recent events had done nothing to change his mind. 

He had only grown more agitated as refugees poured in day by day from all corners of Ferelden until Lothering seemed to be bursting at the seems. And still, they continued to come. He couldn't really blame them. The begins of a Blight was upon them, anyone with common sense could tell that much. 

It's almost funny how they think they're going to be safe. That they can hide from things like Darkspawn. They couldn't stay there. Hawke knew it, his mother knew it. Even Bethany became more and more anxious. 

Their chance came when Carver return from Ostagar, running without stopping. The boy barely gave his family time to gather their things together before he was hauling them out of Lothering, pushing them away from the village that had always been doomed. And it seemed just in time too. The Hawkes were gone barely hours before Darkspawn fell upon the place, slaughtering everything and everyone in their path. 

Chances to stop and catch their breath were few and far between and they could hardly be called reprieves when brothers spent ever second bickering about what to do next. 

_Kirkwall._

It was an absurd idea, of course. The City of Chains, where Templars seem to reign supreme. Not exactly the first place apostates would choice to run to. But they agree on it, because it's the only idea they have, because they might just have family there and it's far safer then anywhere else in the Free Marches.

They never expected to encounter a Templar on the way there. Bethany and her elder brother remain weary, though she extends kindness, because Maker knows she's always had a heart of gold. Carver frowns at the way his brother snaps at the man, warning him to keep his distance. A temporary parlay is all they come up with, in agreement to help one another rid themselves of this cursed place. But Garrett remains wary, gaze constantly flickering towards the stranger as they pushed on. 

Something did not seem right with him and it only seemed to get worse the further they went. His wife, Aveline insisted he was fine, it was an injury that could be tended to, but Garrett remained unconvinced. 

The Templar, Wesley, lingered back with Leandra as they fought through the horde and it became apparent that Aveline was no mere woman. She had incredible skill with her blade, something they were all thankful for at that moment. 

Another moment to catch their breath falls upon them, though it's short lived as the ground beneath their feet shakes, the sound of thunderous footsteps drawing ever closer. They are tense, waiting as they grasp their respective weapons as the monstrosity comes into view.

An Ogre. Far bigger, fiercer than anything any of them have ever faced before and for a moment, the group stares at the beast before them. The time to hesitate has long since passed, though and it lowers it head, grunts as a massive foot drags across the ground. A warning before a roar erupted from it's throat and the ogre charges. They move, of course, to avoid it's path of destruction. All expect, Leandra, who remains frozen in place by a fear that grasps at her heart, ice cold in her chest. 

Her daughter panics, placing herself between mother and monster, staff raised only to find herself flung away as if she was nothing more then a ragdoll. 

There's a sickening crack as her body hits the rocks and Leandra shrieks, running to her only daughter. They all see it, hear it happening and Carver releases an almighty howl, swinging at the best, every nerve ending alight with rage as he strikes with his massive greatsword. 

Garrett freezes, hesitates as he stares at his mother, eyes wide with disbelief as he watches her gather up his sister in her arms, trying to rouse her. It's only when Aveline flies past that he remembers the present danger and he tears his gaze away from the woman, raising his own weapon to fling spell after spell at the ogre.

It seems like hours before the beast howls in pain, stumbling before it falls to the ground and they have a moment before a familiar sound reaches them, and the horde descends once more. Spells are hurled in every direction, the distinct sound of blade slicing through flesh rings out through the air and it takes all their energy and more just to keep coming.

Another roar sounds out somewhere above them and Garrett feels the panic rising in his throat. _Not another one. Please not another one._ He can't let anyone else come to harm because of another one of those things.  
But it's not an ogre. It's something far worse that looms over them. A power sweep of leathery looking wings almost brushes him off his feet, the heat of fire lighting up the darkspawn almost too hot and before them lands a dragon.

The mage feels nothing but hopelessness as he stares at the beast, watching as it burns the horde to an utter crisp. That hopelessness is soon replaced with confusion as he watches the dragon shift, form taking the shape of that of a woman. An utterly impossible feat and yet he finds himself intrigued. 

He must deal with this before anything else. He knows that. The conversation between them is brief, his own words sharp and short and somehow, he finds himself agreeing to a deal he just knows he's going to regret making. 

This dragon, witch, _Flemeth_ , takes interest in Wesley for a moment, announcing something about some Taint. He's read about it before, recalls briefly the words in his books and he knows there is no saving the man at this moment. Aveline protests, fights against what is about to come and Garrett takes a blade in hand. He won't make her kill her husband. It's too cruel. So he does it himself, finding a gap in the regalia, watching the brief flicker of pain as he sinks the blade in deep, watching the light leave the Templars eyes before he falls limp. He might run from them, but Garrett had never wanted to end a Templars life.  
His gaze falls, releasing his hand on the blade and before he can lose himself in his thoughts, the sound of sobbing reaches his ears and Hawke knows it's a bad sign. A terrible sign, even with the gut wrenching feeling that shakes him, the tightening in his chest.

He bolts upwards, stumbling over his own feet to reach his mother.

_I can heal her._

Garrett tells himself that, despite knowing a truth he won't accept.

_Let me heal her._

The mage reaches for Bethany, only for Leandra to scream at him as she clings to her daughter, rocking slowly on the spoken, tears continuing to fall. She yells through her sobs, telling him it's his fault her daughter is dead. She doesn't notice the way he flinches and recoils at her words, staring in disbelief between his mother and sister. 

_It's not true. She's not dead. She'll wake up any second now_. He can't say it, the words catch in his throat and Carver shoves him out of the way, snarling slightly with the action. The younger son won't cry here for the death of his twin sister, not in front of everyone else. He'l put on a brave face and be the strong one for their mother as Garrett sits there, falling apart as his hands cover his face. Carver doesn't dare to look at his brother, arms embracing Leandra in an attempt to calm her and she clings to him.

Garrett thinks maybe it is his fault after all. He's supposed to protect them. Make sure nothing happens to them. Poor sweet Beth didn't deserve a fate so cruel. 

Flemeth remains uncaring through it all, telling them they must leave before they are forced to fight again. They don't even have time to bury Bethany, give her a proper farewell before being urged on.

No one speaks for the rest of the journey, lingering in their own thoughts, their own grief. 

How much more would the Maker take from them before he was satisfied?


End file.
